


And The Kiss Of God's Mouth

by Morgan_Inkeye



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Dark Lord With Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Smut, Teasing, erotism, referenced rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Inkeye/pseuds/Morgan_Inkeye
Summary: Melkor tells Mairon about his captivity in Mandos.





	And The Kiss Of God's Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ! Thank you for stopping by. This story is related to my other work, "To Love Was A Sin". It can however be read separately, so welcome ! :) Expect some tears, smut with feelings, and very loving Dark Lords.

     In the gloomy quarters of the Lords of Angband, only the murmur of peaceful breathing could now be heard.   
Many things had changed, since Melkor had finally come back to Middle-Earth. His entire self was different.   
  


When Mairon saw him crossing the gates, a surge of joy and relief had taken hold of him, making tears impossible to hold back. He ran into his arms, casting away the mask of the cold-hearted, unsensitive Lieutenant he had been assuming for so long. All he wanted on that moment, was to feel his beloved Master close to him, holding him tightly in his arms.   
Mairon mumbled erratically, thanking all and everything for having brought his Lord back to him.   
And the eyes Melkor set on him, Mairon would never forget them. Sad, bewildered eyes, yet filled with great love.   
  


_Welcome home_ , Mairon whispered at his ear, as Melkor was holding him dearly.   
  


Yet no matter how blissful their reunion was, Melkor had undeniably changed.   
Mairon knew it ; knew nothing would ever be _as before_. How could it ? So much had occurred. But Mairon loved him still, no lesser than the first time he had laid eyes on him. And beyond Melkor's desolate eyes, he knew this feeling found echo. His dear Master was devastated by Eru-knew-what, but Mairon loved him just as before. Perhaps even more.   
  


As Melkor resumed his role of Master of Angband – and of all of Arda, he grew restless. Distant, cold. Mairon could hardly convince himself to let him be – he knew something was wrong.   
Far too often was Melkor sitting in the ghastly darkness of the throneroom, and gazed in the nothingness, surrounded by silent shadows.   
The crown upon his head was casting blinding light, yet its glare was terrifying, and felt far darker than pitch. Melkor was growing obsessed with his precious jewels, to the point of irrational fear, and Mairon loathed them with his entire heart.   
  


It took a long time, and many unrewarded attempts, before Mairon finally succeeded in persuading his Master to take some rest.   
He climbed on his lap, as Melkor was sat on his throne. His Lord gave him a deeply surprised look, certainly not expecting his respectful and well-mannered Lieutenant to overlook his position so shamelessly. But he did not chase him away. He merely stared at him, waiting. Giving him his blessing, perhaps.   
  


So Mairon waited no more. He cupped his face, laying his fine, delicate hands on his Master's ashen skin. In silence, their eyes locked. There was a mute, yet deep exchange as they drowned in each other's abyssal eyes.   
Melkor let the soft, welcoming fires of Mairon consume him gently, as his Maia willingly plunged in the dark, ink-black pits of his Master's soul. Shadow and flame was one anew, and they closed their eyes, joining their lips instead.   
  


It was their first _sincere_ kiss since the day Melkor had been captured. And neither of them was willing to hide their joy, their sorrowful happiness. But there was no sadness, in their tears. Only the relief of finding each other again, at long last. Their lips and souls caressed tenderly, as their hands entwined.   
  


Melkor let him take his crown away, not holding back the long sigh of relief as the heavy, burdening iron was set aside the throne. He smiled to his lover, pulling him in another kiss – far more passionate this time.   
He savoured the deep, long moan Mairon let out as his silken lips were parted open. In his response Melkor could tell how greatly he had missed it ; this slow, sensual dance of their lips and tongues, wording poetry their voice could not utter.   
Mairon's entire body was reacting eagerly, feeling anew all those sensations he had so greatly missed.   
No one could equal his Master. In his absence, it had seemed all carnal desire had left him, and for three ages he found no interest in the matters of the flesh.  
Yet now his blood was boiling, his skin shivered in anticipation, his entire essence begging for the fusion with his dear lover.   
  
His Master's kisses and hands were melting him completely, unleashing a fire that had flickered for too long. Melkor undid the pin that held Mairon's hair up, letting this firefall descend down his shoulders, draping him in a fiery aura.   
For a short moment Melkor stayed subjugated, detailing his handsome lover. If Mairon were to tell him he took no living toy while he was gone, Melkor would probably not believe him.   
Mairon was an allegory of desire, an image of pure lustful danger that very few could tame. And those Mairon denied were plagued with dreams of him.   
Melkor smirked at him, and claimed his warm mouth again, as his charred hands slipped under his tunic of red velvet.   
  


This unusual feeling – a charcoaled touch – was not unpleasant at all. Mairon could feel the rough skin of his Master's black hands scratching his skin, scraping it, probably leaving marks. He cared not. He wanted everything of him, and the caress of his hands was unchanged, to his soul. They still were soft and gentle, beyond this blackened layer.  
But the touch of his burnt hands was igniting him, giving him new sensations, and far too many ideas. He chuckled as Melkor's fingers trailed up his sides, awaking delicious shivers under their caress.   
  


Mairon let him remove his tunic, and tossed it carelessly on the floor. The cold air of the throneroom was bitter, yet the sensations his Master was giving him were far enough to chase this frozen bite away.   
Melkor's lips now teased his neck, and an area just below his ear, that never failed to arouse him when tickled even just a bit. He sighed, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, allowing his lover to explore his pulsing neck, and inviting him to leave his mark.   
He moaned as Melkor's fangs slightly brushed at his thin skin, and his tongue flicked as to ease the stinging pain, sending jolts of pleasure through Mairon's entire essence.   
  


He wound his hands in Melkor's raven hair, encouraging his bruising kisses. Mairon shivered at the idea of the dark, possessive tokens Melkor would adorn him with, and he would wear them with pride.   
His Master's fangs sank just a bit, enough to make him squirm and whimper in delight, his entire being about to combust in pleasure. He heard Melkor chuckling low, and his tongue trailed up to his ear, where he let out a deep sigh.   
It had been long. So unbearably long.   
  


The roughness of Melkor's armor was painful against Mairon's lightly-clad thighs. He whined as the cold iron rubbed between his legs, Melkor deliberately pressing him down, grinding him down on his armor. Mairon's sighs turned into moans at this deliciously cruel treatment, and he saw a flash of sadistic enjoyment in his Master's eyes. He smirked at him, moaning louder, delecting himself of the response in Melkor's eyes.   
  
Melkor returned to his neck, leaving countless dark bruises, claiming Mairon as his own once again. Yet his dear lover had never ceased being his, and deep within, Melkor knew it.   
  


''Do you want me ?'' Mairon whispered, more for Melkor's soul than his ears.   
  


His Master sighed low, gently nibbling at his ear. Mairon felt hesitation. Uncertainty. He slightly pulled back, pressing his forehead against Melkor's. He smiled reassuringly, caressing his long, messy hair.   
It amazed him, how even tired-looking, and eyes sunken in their sockets, Melkor still gave off this feeling of superiority. He was a chaotic, wild beauty, a unique one. And he was _his_ alone.   
  


''Come to our bedroom,'' Mairon whispered, kissing his temple.   
  


He saw a glint of uneasiness, in his Master's half-lidded eyes. And they glistened, as though the thought of what Mairon suggested made him... fearful ?  
There was a moment of hesitation as Melkor looked into his eyes, seeking comfort in Mairon's fire. He finally nodded, taking his lover's hand in his own, holding it tightly.   
  


''Guide me,'' he breathed out.

  
  


     And Mairon did. He showed him the path to their room, through winding corridors and narrow passages, cradling his Master's hand in his own.   
They often paused, stealing a kiss, pinning the other against a wall, devouring the other's mouth. They felt so young. As a just-married couple on its way to the bridal bed, eager to spend this special night together.   
But as they closened to their room, Mairon felt Melkor tensing. He walked slower, unsure, and his expression had changed. When they reached the black iron door, Melkor utterly froze.   
  


Mairon could see his distress, the look of alarm in his eyes. But he cupped his face, and kissed him tenderly, standing on the tip of his thigh-high boots. He felt him sighing, and his charred hands came to rest on his waist, holding him close.   
Melkor sought rescue in his eyes, comfort in his proximity. The look he gave him was desperate, and filled with such hesitation... But Mairon knew how to help him focus, and with a mere smile and a few soothing words, Melkor seemed to relax.   
He took his hand again, and guided him into their room, closing the heavy door behind them.   
  


They had laid together so many times, neither of them exactly remembered _how_ many. Each time had been intense ; in their bed or against a wall, in a dark corner or in their bath, each time was filled with heated passion, and never did they tire of each other's presence.   
Yet _this_ time, was by far the most ravaging of all.

  
Mairon could not control the heat of his body, the destructive passion that consumed him whole as Melkor took him. His familiar hands on his hips, his length buried deep inside of him and his low sighs, his voice so beautiful, majestuous even in depraved moments. All seemed to finally be _right._ Mairon could not hold back his screams of ravishing bliss, as his dearly beloved Master claimed him for his own again.   
  
He had to bury his face in the sheets, to prevent his voice from waking the entire fortress up. It would not be displeasing to all the dwellers of Angband, he thought. It would give them something to pick on him after, and Mairon would not be unproud.   
But this moment belonged to them, and them alone. Bragging would be for later.   
  
The pace was not ruthless. It was not the rough, destroying rhythm they usually favoured. It was gentle, smooth, and nearly timid. And Melkor's own moans were so soft at Mairon's ear, choked in the Vala's tight throat... It doubtlessly added something to the moment.   
Mairon felt tears in his nape, as Melkor kissed the top of his spine. His heart missed a beat, and he turned his head as much as he could, catching a glimpse of his desolate Master.   
Mairon shifted positions, laying now on his back, his legs wrapped tightly around Melkor's waist.   
  


''Look at me,'' Mairon whispered. ''I am here, now. It is over.''  
  


What was over ? He knew not. Yet he felt those words were the right ones to say, for his Master's eyes glistened again, and a sad smile stirred his lips. With a tearful kiss he entered him again, eliciting soft moans from his lover.   
Mairon felt himself on fire, melting in his Master's touch, eagerly accepting him whole inside of him. It was utterly perfect. This ravaging pleasure, their sensual dance, and the music of their moans.   
  


Neither of them wanted the moment to stop. Mairon could see all emotions in his lover's eyes, and hear them all in his voice – joy, sorrow, fear, pain. He pulled him into a deep kiss again, devouring his mouth shamelessly.  
  


''I am not leaving you, my Love,'' he moaned against his lips. ''You are safe, now.''  
  


He saw the ghost of a smile upon his Master's face, before he buried it near his ear, moaning in rapture as he approached his peak. Mairon held him tightly, hugging him with his whole body, losing himself in the same destructive pleasure until he was utterly consumed by it.   
His back arched, his legs clenched around Melkor's waist. He felt this glorious release, all his muscles tensing at once, his nails helplessly raking his Master's strong back, and a scream escaping his bruised lips. He was crushed under this violent pleasure, even so gently brought.   
  
Melkor came shortly after him, his release greatly helped by Mairon's own. He sank his teeth all the way in his lover's shoulder, drawing a pained moan from him.   
His Master stayed on him, shivering in the aftershocks of his release. But not only. Mairon felt him sobbing, hot tears rolling in the crook of his neck.  
He could not do much more than just hold him there, caressing his hair and his back, as gently as he could. He tried to calm him down, whispering soothing words.

 

But Melkor could not control himself, and he pulled away, sitting on the edge of the bed, turning his back to him. He buried his face in his blackened hands, hiding his pitiful tears there.   
  


Mairon looked at him for a moment, unsure whether or not he should leave him alone. Yet even if he should, he could not – would not. Melkor needed him. He needed caring arms, tender kisses, gentle words. Love. He needed love above all, and Mairon could give it all to him.   
But as he watched him, his back hunched under the weight of misery, Mairon felt great pain.   
  


There were so many scars, slashing across his grey skin. Deep, white lines that dug to the bone, thin skin underneath which ribs and spine rippled. They were not battlescars. It was the mark of torture, and Mairon had enough experience to be certain of it. He stared at his Master's marred back, and felt both fury and sorrow awaking in his heart.   
  


Who had dared inflicting this upon Melkor ? Who had thought themselves superior to He Who Arises In Might, the Master of Arda ? Mairon would tear them to pieces for having damaged his beloved one. His dear Master, his savage God.   
He watched him sobbing, his shoulders shaking. Mairon dared not saying anything. Melkor was far from being fine, and there was nothing that could be said. How to comfort with words, when Mairon had no idea what was wrong ? There could be hundred of reasons. Yet he knew there was deep suffering, anguish. And a dark, smothering pain that dwelt inside of him, that Mairon was not allowed to see.   
  


He reached out, encircling Melkor's chest, laying his cheek against the scarred skin of his back. Melkor tensed, a sob choking in his throat. He moved not, as though petrified by Mairon's gentleness, and his soft kisses on his scars.   
He held his Maia's hands tightly on his chest, against his heart.  
  


''I should be repulsing you,'' he said, voice cracked. ''All of this should push you away. My weakness, my scars.''  
  


Mairon sighed, and gently pulled on his shoulder, bidding him turning around. He met his Maia's eyes, not filled with pity, but with genuine _care_. There was deep concern in his lover's soft fire, and _love_ , a love so great. Mairon smiled to him, and kissed his cheek.  
  


''You will never push me away,'' he said in a whisper. ''But your pain is great, and I wish to ease it.'' He tucked a strand of raven hair behind his Master's ear, lovingly stroking his cheekbone. ''Speak to me, my Love. Your silence is painful for us both.''  
  


Melkor cast his eyes down, and nodded after a short moment. He let Mairon pull them both down on the bed, and nestled in his lover's close embrace, sighing in ease.   
It felt so blissful. Hearing Mairon's little heart, pulsing just beneath his ear. His warm, soft skin, the tender caress of his delicate hands. His fingers traced his shoulderblades, his mucles, and the deep scars that barred his entire back.   
It felt beautiful, unlike what he expected. Mairon's claws were retracing the lines of his painful shame, as though closing them, chasing them away forever. There was a hint of pain, as the tip of his pointy nails grazed at his exposed spine. But it felt good, correcting.   
He sighed low, feeling his entire body unwinding.

 

''Who did this to you ?'' Mairon asked after a moment. ''I know the marks a whip leaves.''  
  


Melkor looked up at him, his eyes haunted with memories. He seemed to implore him to forget it, not to mention it.  
  


''You must tell me,'' Mairon resumed in a softer voice. ''I cannot change what happened, but you can share you pain with me. Have you not done it before ?''  
  


Melkor felt his throat tightening. Indeed by the past, Mairon had helped him unburdening his heart. And all had been so easy, afterwards... Yet nothing was similar, this time. So much had come in the way – shame, pain, _time_.   
Utumno had been the home of their blissful days, where no harm could come to them, and nothing could stain their love. They were strong, unaffected by anything.   
  


However now, Melkor was not the same. He was tired, scarred, weakened. Broken. And though Mairon could fix him, he doubted things would ever be the same. The cracks would still be there, ghost-like lines haunting his dreams and thoughts.   
Would their passion ever radiate so greatly, and blind all hurt away, as it once did ? When so much harm had been done, and so long had passed, was it even possible ?   
Those scars were only a small part of what Melkor had seen and been through. There were invisible wounds that neither time nor kiss could ever heal fully.  
  


''I doubt not of your love, neither do I mistrust you,'' Melkor sighed. He laid his head on Mairon's chest again, finding comfort in his little heart, drumming softly at his ear. ''I only fear to appear weak in your eyes.''  
  


Mairon chuckled.   
  


''Do not say such things,'' he whispered. ''Have I not told you already that I will never lose faith in you ? My love for you has no boundaries. Whatever this world has done, or will do to you. I shall always be there, and worship your memory.''  
  


The last words dropped out of Mairon's mouth with sadness. Melkor answered not, simply hugging him tighter.   
  


''I thought you were gone forever,'' he resumed in a strangled voice. ''I had no word from Valinor. You told me to hide, if the forces of the West were to come upon us, and never to manifest my presence until you came back.'' He paused, and Melkor felt his heart beating quicker.   
''I lost hope,'' he confessed. ''I promised myself to avenge you. I started cherishing your memory, our time together, and I...''  
  


His voice cracked, and he stopped, tears running down his face. Melkor immediately rose up, and gathered him in his arms, exchanging their positions. He held him tightly, caressing his shoulders and back.   
  
''I could not stop weeping for you,'' Mairon declared between uncontrolled sobs. ''I pictured you by my side when the night grew cold, and it wrenched my heart to be so alone. I thought it was just a pleasant dream, and that I had woke up in this grey, cruel reality.''  
  


Melkor covered his forehead and cheeks with soft kisses, murmuring calming words. He simply wished to hold him there, safely in his arms. He would let nothing tear them apart again.  
  


''So if I can do anything to help you,'' Mairon resumed, ''I will. Even if it is listening, and saying nothing. Even if it is holding you, and smoothing those marks away. I want to make up for all this time you have been away from me.''  
  


Melkor tilted his chin up, giving him a warm smile. It was quite an unusual expression on his Master's face, and Mairon's eyes widened in surprise. But he smiled back, and willingly leant into the soft kiss they shared.   
  


''Alright,'' Melkor sighed. ''I will talk, Precious.''

  
  
     It was of course far easier to say than to actually do. They sat comfortably in the bed, and Mairon held his hands in his own, caressing them with tenderness. Melkor's voice was strangled in his throat, as he recalled all that happened while he was away. But there was no need to hurry. They had time.   
  


''It happened when I was in Mandos,'' he started. ''I was supposed to stay isolated, with no presence but my own. I was chained, unable to move, and could only think or sleep. I truly wish it had remained this way for three ages.'' He paused, searching for his words. Mairon rubbed his hands with his thumbs, careful not to hurt his charred skin.   
  


''Nienna sometimes visited me,'' he resumed. ''She was forbidden access to my cell, just as everyone else, but she cared not. She was a comforting presence, this I must acknowledge. Unlike others.''  
  


Mairon saw him freezing – in anger or terror, he could not say.  
  


''Tulkas did this to me,'' he breathed out. ''He came to my cell one day, and had his personal revenge on me. He was forbidden access to the entirety of Mandos, and Namo personally made sure this rule was respected. I would have thanked him, if his vigilance had been so flawless.''  
  


Mairon's jaw clenched. The fire of his eyes was suddenly brighter, and Melkor smiled at it.   
  


''Who shall I kill first ?'' Mairon asked in cold anger, forcing a smile. ''This brute of Tulkas, or Namo, for having failed to his own rules ?''  
  


Melkor chukled, shaking his head.   
  


''Namo was mostly innocent,'' he said. ''One day he left the Halls in a haste, and no one was guarding the place for some time. Time during which...''  
  
''This monster came and obtained his petty revenge,'' Mairon finished.  
  


He nodded, sadly.   
  


''Tulkas started by bragging,'' Melkor explained. ''He boasted of his victory over me, and laughed of seeing me chained, powerless. He told me he could destroy me if he wished to, reduce me to pieces so small I could never heal. I would simply become an unpleasant memory. His words infuriated me,'' he sighed. ''But I wish he had stopped to words.''  
  


Mairon was holding his hand so tightly, it almost hurt him. He was visibly holding himself back from exploding in fury, and Melkor could not help but find it endearing. His stomach turned at the memory, but his lover made it easier.   
  


''When I saw his whip,'' he continued, ''I knew he would not be gentle. There was such bloodlust in his eyes,'' he shivered. ''I am sure I pale in comparison, even in my fiercest rages. I tried not to scream when he gave me the first lash, but each was harder than the next, and it became unbearable. When I let out a sound, it encouraged him to be even harsher.''  
  


Mairon's face had turned into a mixture of rage, sorrow and pure hatred. His eyes were filled with horror, and Melkor found solace in them. He had come to believe he deserved it, and that his pain would bother no one.   
  


''He laughed, when he gave me the deepest ones,'' Melkor explained. ''I was frightened, and it amused him greatly. I could feel his euphoria, and the disgust of my flesh ripped open, my blood flowing down my bare skin, and dripping to the floor. There was no way I could escape – I had to endure.''  
  


Mairon cast his eyes down.   
  


''What a coward,'' he hissed. ''How superior from him, indeed, to humiliate a prisoner. And they call him their _Champion_.''  
  


There was disgust, in Mairon's tone. He found it immensely comforting.   
  


''Tell me he stopped here,'' his Maia begged. ''Please, tell me he did nothing more to you.''  
  


But Melkor looked at him with sorrow, and shook his head.   
  


''He wanted to humiliate me,'' he said. ''No, he did not stop here. He touched me in a way only you should ever have, and had his fun with me.'' He paused, feeling his stomach turning at the memory. Mairon saw his reaction, and laid a hand on his shoulder, gently patting him.   
He wanted to tell him all was fine. Yet how could anything be ? What his Master told him was horrible.

  
''He left when he was done,'' he said. ''Picked up his whip, closed the door behind him as though nothing happened. Shortly after I heard shouting, and Nienna entered my cell, tears on her face. She healed me, and this is all I remember. I must have fallen unconscious.''  
  


Silence fell between them. Melkor looked down, still fighting off the urge to throw up in disgust. Mairon embraced him, seeing nothing else to do. He could not say anything to this. He held him tightly, caressing his scarred back. Melkor clinged to him desperately, relieved of this weight.   
  


''Thank you, my Love,'' Melkor whispered at his ear. ''I am glad you are still here for me.''  
  


''I will tear him to pieces,'' Mairon growled low. ''I will cut off his head, dismember him, rip all of his organs out, and feed them to my wolves.''  
  


''I would be fine with such a plan,'' Melkor chuckled, caressing his hair.   
  


''Has more happened ?'' He asked in a trembling voice.  
  


He answered not. Could he tell him everything ? There of course was nothing comparable to _this_ , even though far more had occurred. Melkor had witnessed and heard things no one should ever have. He had seen love being torn apart, sinful feelings getting retribution. Nothing he wished to even think about on this moment.   
  


''Nothing of the like,'' he finally said at his ear. ''Worry not, my Love. All is fine.''  
  


But Mairon suddenly pulled away, giving him a hurt look.   
  


''How could it be fine ? After what happened to you ?''  
  


''I know it will not happen again,'' Melkor shrugged. ''I know you are here, now.''   
  


Mairon yielded, giving him a sad smile. There was nothing he could do to repair what had been done, anyway. It pained him to acknowledge it. But from now on, he would make sure no one harmed his Master ever again.   
  


He held Melkor to him during the night, tenderly caressing his hair and back. He slept not – too many thoughts were whirling in his mind. He wished he could do more for his beloved God, yet... there was nothing that was in his power. And it grieved his heart.   
Mairon held him close, listening to the music of his deep breath.   
It was good to hear it – this slow, long respiration. For so long Mairon had heard only silence, and the sound of his own weeping. He tightened his embrace around Melkor, cradling him with all the love he had for him.   
Never again would anyone set a finger on him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, please let me know what you thought ! Feedback of any kind always helps me improving.   
> Much love <3


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